


Trauma is the Ultimate Killer

by Piggie50



Category: Grimm (TV), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crossover, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Wesen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5172380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piggie50/pseuds/Piggie50
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a Grimm who is unaware of what he is. Hannibal Lecter is the Wesen serial killer that he is after. They meet, and things begin to both become clear and to unravel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> **Title comes from Marry the Night video from Lady Gaga  
> Idea came to me while my dad, sister and I were talking about these two (My dad loves Grimm) and I was like, imagine Will as a Grimm, and Hannibal as a Wesen!!  
> I don't think they meant it to be a slash fic though...

They wore those hats to keep the blood out of their hair.  
That was the first thing that Will noticed about the nurses at the hospital when they took his mother away.  
There had been so, so much blood.  
Stabbed, gutted. In the alleyway behind the old movie theater on main street.  
Gutted, dead.  
Red, everywhere. Like an artist had been driven mad with impatience, and had splashed crimson paint around the room. On the floor. On her.  
“We are so sorry.” The nurses had looked down at Will and his father, whose head was bent down and in his hands, curly hair flattened and reddened and stained.  
Perhaps he should have worn one of those hats too.  
“She’s gone.”  
Will had looked up into the nurses’ eyes and he saw something there.  
Something terrible.  
A monster…  
The monsters stayed when his mother did not.  
Morphed faces that stared at him and often tried to scare and hurt him when he looked back.  
He soon learned two things: one, his father, nor did anyone else see the monsters. They thought him insane. Trauma, the doctors said, from his mother dying while he was so young.  
And two, if he did not look the creatures in the eye then he would not be detected.  
During the first few years of Will’s life he assumed that the monsters were part of his imagination, that they represented a dying form of higher life. His mother. Dead.  
But, they soon became more and more real.  
They reached out for him, even when he wasn’t asleep.  
He soon began to learn how to fight them. To run. To imagine that they were not truly there.  
He tried telling his father about them.  
But, his father was so buried in his own grief, and in his own alcoholic tendencies, that he sometimes forgot about Will, and sometimes forgot to listen to him.  
“They see something in me,” Will told him one night as he sat, holding his father’s hand, terrified at the darkness that seemed to crowd around him. “They see something that they want to destroy, that they want to kill.”  
His father had mumbled something, but it was not in comfort. It was the name of Will’s mother.  
It was then that Will realized that he was just as dead as his mother. Dead. But forgotten, not like she was. Not to his father.  
It was then that Will realized that he was so, so alone…  
Now, Will still struggled not to see and react to the monsters, even though he met them daily.  
He had a label now though.  
Grimm.  
Horrible. Feared. Respected. A thing to be sacrificed for the greater common good.  
It scared Will still, though he didn’t cower in his bed any longer.  
He surrounded himself with a pack of dogs that he adopted, and protected them in the way that no one would protect him.  
They were his family now, his father having drifted so far down a river of whiskey that he had died of alcohol poisoning years ago.  
It was devastating, but Will had accepted it. He had learned to embrace death at an early age, after all.  
Through this curse that he bared death had been his patron, and he knew now how to see the monsters and to fight them.  
Like the one that he was currently tracking.  
An ordinary serial killer in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of his employer, Jack Crawford, but Will knew better.  
“He’s eating them,” he had told them once, though he was hardly believed.  
But Will knew. Monsters ate smaller, weaker monsters, and they grew stronger and bigger with every kill. This was what this monster was doing. He was gaining power, whatever he was, and he was playing with them. With Will.  
“Does he know who, or what, I am?” Will had asked one of his dogs, Winston, that night, as he rubbed a towel over the dog’s fur.  
The canine had looked up at him with adoring eyes, but he did not offer any answers, he instead chose to shake off the remaining bath water from his fur.  
Will had sighed, and looked outside.  
Somewhere, out in the darkness, a monster lurked, and it was up to Will to stop him…  
Hannibal had been a monster his entire life.  
He was a wendigo. A heart eater. He who wore shadows, and who stole blood and essence.  
It had been his identity for a long, long time, and he had wanted little else during that time.  
Wesen were made to kill, and that was what Hannibal did best.  
Yet, life had been incomplete.  
His sister, the light of his life, Mischa, had been killed by rouge Grimms when she was so, so very young, and it had weighed heavily on his soul ever since.  
They had made him eat her. And that was forbidden.  
We must never eat our own kind, his mother had once told him as she softly stroked his hair back from his bloody face. If we do, we are no better than them.  
He had not known who “them” was back then, but, he thought that he had a pretty good idea of what she meant now. Grimms.  
The bane of a wesen’s existence. The ender or life. The bringer of death.  
He had never met any Grimms in America before. He supposed that most of them resided in Europe, where he had hailed from. Most of them stayed close together for protection, for tradition. For life.  
But, he supposed that a few stray bloodlines could have been brought to North America and been dredged down by the way of human life. Impure blood. Diluted power.  
Still, he was cautious.  
He may have killed Grimms before, but, they were wily, and they were cruel. They would kill without question, and they would have no mercy when they did it.  
Hannibal could still taste Mischa’s blood in his mouth.  
It was a reminder. A reminder to never stray, to never give up what was really important. And that was killing all Grimms that remained….


	2. Blood and Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***AN: Events are a mismatched in all of this, so, don’t get too confused!

Hannibal had seen the Grimm when he went to meet his former student, Alana Bloom, for a case. Alana was not wesen, yet Hannibal had been intrigued by her sophisticated human mind, and he sometimes helped her with particularly hard cases and clients of psychology.  
The Grimm had smelled of blood and earth and death, a heady combination that quickly drew his attention.  
He was an unassuming creature.  
Of average height, slim, but with subtle power hidden behind his clothing. Dark curly hair, the color that most of the Grimms seemed to have inherited from their shared kin. His eyes were light and green, small flecks of blue drew Hannibal in, even from this distance. He could have stared into those eyes for an eternity, the way that one would stare into the sun, or into a dark void.  
But, that was interrupted by a struggling man coming down the hall, two guards held his arms, but, his lashing out caused his to woge. A Lausenschlange. A wesen type that was usually cold and clever in their killings. Apparently, this one had gotten caught.  
When the woge occurred Hannibal’s eyes were still on the man, the one who smelled of freshly killed prey and Mother Earth, and because of this he was able to see the haunting darkness that seemed to creep over the man.  
He stiffened as he stared at the snake wesen, his eyes widening in the smallest fraction. It Hannibal had been woged he was sure that he would have seen the never-ending darkness that overtook Grimm’s eyes when one was in their true form.  
As soon as the other wesen was dragged away the man settled down, shoulders relaxing a bit before he took a deep breath and walked away.  
“Ready to go?” Alana’s voice had cut through Hannibal at once, making him annoyed at her interruption, and angry that he had not noticed her arrival.  
“Who is that man?” Hannibal had nodded and gestured to the Grimm who was walking further and further away.  
Alana had looked confused, “His name is Will Graham. He’s a special agent here.”  
Hannibal had felt something dark and hungry swirl inside of him, something that craved blood and vengeance.   
“Hm,” he had said noncommittally, “Shall we go then?”  
He and Alana had walked away, but Hannibal become more and more aware of the Grimm the further they went, and with each step his hunger increased…  
He had made it his mission now to catch this Agent Graham’s attention, and to draw him out.  
This Grimm was the first that he had seen in this country, and he wished to know why.  
Was he part of a dying clan? Was he the last Grimm in the United States? How many others had he killed? What would his blood sing to Hannibal as he consumed him?  
So many questions, yet Hannibal had to bid his time.  
He began to kill more frequently, and he soon become more, and more powerful the more he consumed.  
Most of his kills were rude humans who had been used in his service before, but, some of them were other wesen.   
Dog eat dog. Big fish eats little fish.  
The way of the world.  
The Grimm became involved in the investigation, and Hannibal was nicknamed the “Chesapeake Ripper,” a moniker that reminded him of the dirtier, easier days of old.  
This Will Graham was interested, was caught up in Hannibal’s game, and Hannibal was eager to draw it out as long as he could.  
He had plans, a great many plans for this Grimm…  
“Will you walk into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly.   
It was a line of a poem that Will was reminded of every time he was made to go to work, or to face a dangerous adversary.  
Who is the spider, and who is the fly though?  
I am the walrus, goo goo g-joob, Will thought to himself amusedly as he looked at the newest case file.  
“She’s the newest girl we’ve found.” Jack was saying, his voice sounding a bit like he was lecturing. “Is it the Chesapeake Ripper?”  
Will looked at the pictures. Dark hair, light eyes. Pretty, yet in a plain way. All of them the same. Yet not.  
“No,” he said, looking away and rubbing his eyes, “This killer hungers, yes, but, not in the same way that the Ripper does. This is different.”  
Jack frowned, furrowing his brow, “How does he hunger then will? We found no saliva or semen on the bodies-”  
“Not like that!” Will snapped, his stomach turning at the audacity of the other man. “He’s not hungering for them like that. He’s…lonely. Scared. He’s losing something, someone. A girl, a daughter. He needs these girls to be substitutes. He’s going to kill again. Soon.”  
Time was running out.  
For what? Will’s conscious asked.  
For her. For the girl. The girl whom this was all for…  
“I think that you should visit someone. He could help with this case. He could figure out how to analyze this man, and how to help catch him.”  
Will glanced at Jack from the corner of his eye. “And who, pray tell, is this miracle worker?”  
Jack grimaced at his dry response. “His name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He’s the friend and mentor of Alana Bloom. He…specializes in cases such as these.”  
Will was instantly suspicious. “Are we going just for the case?”  
Will knew that his antisocial behavior, strange habits, and his empathy all made him a subject of topic for psychologist and “specialists” alike, but, he thought that he could count on Jack not to do this to him if he was being useful.  
And Will thought that he was useful to some extent.  
Jack stopped the car outside of Will’s house, “Why else would we go?”  
Will tried not to answer as he hopped out of the car…  
Will went to the address that Jack had sent him yesterday, heart in his throat.  
He hated going to doctors, even if it didn’t have anything to do with him.   
They poked and prodded, even when it wasn’t about him.  
The house of the address was large, and the inside was lusciously decorated.  
It made Will nervous, but he ventured on.  
As soon as he arrived at the appointed area an imposing (at least to Will) door opened, and out stepped a tall man, who wore an intricate, and decadent suit.  
“Will Graham I presume?” The accent was incredible, foreign, exotic. “I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”  
And the figure stepped out from the shadows…

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Tell me in a review!!


End file.
